


steamed milk

by itaintbabyshampoo



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, F/F, Fluff, Lesbian AU, Slow Burn, basically another coffee shop/restaurant AU that no one asked for lol, coworkers to friends to maybe something more, katyas a bit of an idiot and trixies a force of nature
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-01-13 13:32:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18469981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itaintbabyshampoo/pseuds/itaintbabyshampoo
Summary: Katya thinks she might have a little bit of a crush on Trixie, sort of a lust at first sight thing. It feels nice to daydream about reaching out to hold her hand, to take her out for dinner and get to know her. Katya welcomes the thoughts into her mind with open arms, let’s them bloom in her brain like spring flowers after a long winter.Katya's the assistant manager at a restaurant, worn out by the hospitality industry and down on her luck. Trixie's the new girl with pink hair, a big smile and a can-do attitude that's about to turn Katya's world upside down without even really trying to.





	1. in which the cappuccino is a delicate art form

**Author's Note:**

> have i started another WIP fic? yes i have. do i hate myself for it? yes i do. 
> 
> this started out as a whole lot of nothing other than me rambling in a bid to procrastinate studying for my university exams, which by the way, are ruining my life. it was supposed to just be a one-shot type affair i was writing for fun, but then i had other ideas and now i'm 3/4 chapters into this nonsensical journey.
> 
> as usual, all mistakes are my own. comments are always loved and appreciated. enjoy! x

Katya has always worked the closing shift at the restaurant for as long as she’s been employed there. She doesn’t remember the last time she worked an opening shift and she manages to avoid the mid-day shifts that Bob has to bribe other members of staff to even take in the first place.  
  
  
The restaurant is Bob’s baby and Katya will be forever indebted to him for hiring her, fresh out of university with an undergraduate degree in textiles and no clue what to do with her life; it’s been three years and she’s now the assistant manager of the place. She’s incredibly lucky to be able to say that she truly loves her job – but her love for the job is currently being tested by the powers that be up above.  
  
  
Bob called her an hour ago – at 8.27am on a Sunday morning, to be exact – in a panic. Alaska had left him a voicemail, claiming to be too sick to move from bed, and that she wouldn’t make it in for her opening shift. Katya knows this to be a lie; she’s seen the videos and pictures of Alaska’s wild Saturday night plastered all over social media, but she’s decided to keep this information to herself, adding it to her personal arsenal for leverage someday. Katya’s not a bitter person, but every now and then she needs a shift covered too. Bob had called her in a panic and she’d reluctantly agreed to head on in to open for the day, even after working the closing shift the night before. By the time she’d arrived with the keys – in a fluster, still with wet hair and wearing the jumper she’d slept in – the kitchen staff were waiting outside, grumbling about the cold morning air.  
  
  
She’s prepping the coffee machine when her phone buzzes in her back pocket.  
  
  
  
**From: Bob**  
Sun 9.29am  
\- - - -   
Hey Kat, frgt 2 mention – new girl coming in @ 12 for 1st shift. Take care of her, don’t make her cry like the last one pls!!  
  
  
  
Katya scoffs at his copious thumbs-up emojis and shoves her phone back into the pocket of her jeans once she’s replied. She didn’t _make_ the previous new girl cry. It’s not her fault the girl was so sensitive that any tone above a whisper set her off like a sprinkler. She’s just fast-forwarding the natural selection process if anything – not everyone is cut out to work in hospitality, as much as Bob likes to think so, especially when they can’t tell their Irish coffees from their cream liqueurs and smash no less than three genuine crystal wine glasses in twenty minutes.  
  
  
Katya pulls through a few shots of espresso to prime the machine and blasts the steam wands twice before she goes and unlocks the door, flicking the lights of their little _We’re open!_ sign on and putting a CD into the stereo. The restaurant generally sees very little trade on a Sunday morning, are lucky if they sell half a dozen coffees before lunch never-mind getting food orders, but Bob advertises them as a seven-days-a-week establishment, so Katya has long since bit the bullet and stopped complaining about trading hours. She uses the downtime between customers to do the daily crossword from the newspaper instead, likes the exercise it gives her brain.  
  
  
Pearl, one of the waitresses, stumbles through the door at the same time as the first customer of the day does. She gives Katya a casual wave, as though she isn’t twenty minutes late, and shuffles downstairs to the staff room. Katya serves the lady – an americano, no room for milk – and wishes her a nice day as she leaves. Pearl reappears, walking behind the counter and pressing herself against the metal of the coffee machine for warmth.  
  
  
“Alaska hungover again?” Pearl asks through a yawn, rubbing her hands carefully against the hot metal to warm up her cold palms.  
  
  
“Is the sky blue?” Katya retorts as she wipes down the front counter and Pearl laughs.  
  
  
“I prefer it when you’re in anyway – your voice doesn’t make me want to drink the coffee machine cleaner,” says Pearl, pulling away from said coffee machine to help herself to a pastry from the cabinet beside it. It’s ironic coming from Pearl, thinks Katya, given that on a good day the girl mostly communicates in grunts punctuated with the odd scream whenever she burns her fingers on the steam wands. Katya doesn’t mind Alaska’s voice, but it does get grating after spending eight hours or more in her company.  
  
  
“Uh, thanks for the compliment, I think?” Katya cocks an eyebrow and Pearl laughs again, spraying little flakes of her pineapple Danish everywhere.  
  
  
  
  
 - - - - -  
  
  
  
  
The morning passes as slowly as Katya knew it would, the minutes dragging out for an eternity before they turn into hours. She’s served a grand total of four people, none of whom chose to sit in with their drinks or ordered food. The counter is dead and so is the kitchen – she can hear the chefs cackling and shouting at each other every now and then from behind the service hatch. Pearl has eaten her way through a further two Danish pastries and Katya’s cleaned the already spotless back bar on six separate occasions by the time Sasha shows up for her 11 o’clock start, dressed head to toe in some extravagant red and green tartan ensemble that Katya is definitely jealous of; she looks down at her sad, navy blue sweater and picks off the little bits of stray lint dotting the fabric covering her chest.  
  
  
“Good morning, ladies,” Sasha drawls in her honey-smooth voice, tying her little half-apron with a double knot around her svelte waist.  
  
  
Katya and Pearl reply in unison, sounding like a tired two-person choir. Sasha sidles up next to Katya to lean against the back bar, looking out onto the empty restaurant floor whilst Pearl excuses herself for a cigarette break – Katya would usually join her, but she’s too tired to bother moving from her perch to the back of the building past the dumpsters where they smoke.  
  
  
“Good weekend, Kat?” asks Sasha.  
  
  
“Oh just the usual, spent the whole time in here dreaming of my Sunday morning in bed. And then Alaska happened. Again.” Katya sighs and rubs at her tired, make-up-less eyes with a balled fist. She likes Alaska, but she would have liked a Sunday in bed a hell of a lot more.  
  
  
“It’s not all bad, gives us a chance to catch up – I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever since you stopped coming to the gallery. It’s good to see you,” Sasha replies. Sasha only works at the bar part-time for some extra cash so her and Katya’s shift patterns rarely match up; she runs a small art gallery with her girlfriend Shea just down the road. It’s a small affair mainly showcasing local talent – Katya used to attend frequently, but recently she hasn’t had the energy and she feels guilty. Over the years she and Sasha, and by extension Shea, have become quite good friends. Katya knows she needs to make more effort, is grateful for the friendship, but recently she’s just been so _drained_. Sure, she loves her job, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t get worn down by the daily trials and tribulations it presents, never-mind the disaster area that is her personal life.  
  
  
“Sorry Sasha, things have just been a little hectic recently, y’know?” Katya says, wrapping her arms around herself to warm up – the heating has been broken for a while now, meaning that the entire establishment is chilly until at least noon most days, never mind on a quiet one like this when there are no bodies present to heat the space.  
  
  
“No, no, I understand. You should swing by sometime though, you’ve been in mourning for too long now. Time for a resurrection, Zamo,” Sasha says it in a joking tone, but Katya’s known her long enough to hear the underlying concern.  
  
  
“I am _not_ in mourning, Sasha.”  
  
  
“Kat, it’s been five months since things ended with Violet. It’s also coincidentally been five months since you last came to the gallery.”  
  
  
And okay, maybe Katya has been avoiding the gallery accidentally on purpose – she’d somehow always manage to pick up a shift, or go grocery shopping, or just turn off her phone completely on the days of new showcase openings. It’s just that it was where she’d go with Violet, it’s where she _met Violet_. Katya’s not in mourning, she just doesn’t fancy being reminded of Violet Chachki, heart-breaker extraordinaire, on her hard to come by days off.  
  
  
Katya is in the process of trying to formulate a witty response to get Sasha off her back without offending her when the front door swings open, almost taking the little bell placed above with it, and slamming into the wall beside it. The door hits the wall so hard that it makes the CD player next to it skip a beat of Alanis Morissette’s _Ironic_. Katya and Sasha’s heads whip round at lightning speed to stare at the young woman standing in the doorway with pastel pink hair and a sheepish grin on her face.  
  
  
“Oh wow,” the woman looks from her hand and then to the door, apparently awestruck by her own strength, “Sorry, I thought the door would have been a lot heavier,” she says, her cheeks flushing even under the heavy face of make-up Katya can see she’s wearing. Sasha tells her not to worry about it but Katya makes a mental note to check the plaster for handle-shaped dents after the woman leaves.  
  
  
“Feel free to sit wherever! Can I get you anything to drink?” Katya switches back to her customer service voice as she makes to reach for one of the hard-back menus they keep stacked behind the bar.  
  
  
“Oh no, uh – I’m Trixie? Today’s my first day?” She says but it sounds like more of a question than a statement, as though she’s unsure of her own name. Katya can see the panic setting in on Trixie’s tanned features.  
  
  
“Oh, Trixie! Oh of course, well – hi, hello, welcome!” Katya hopes it doesn’t sound too obvious that she completely forgot about Bob’s earlier text, about Trixie’s existence.  
  
  
Trixie steps into the bar and closes the door behind her, gently this time. Katya introduces herself and reaches her hand out to her. Trixie shakes it, her grip firm and a little sweaty. She’s wearing a baby yellow polo-neck tucked into a black denim skirt, and Katya can see where her white high-tops cut into the soft fat of her tanned lower calves. Trixie’s carrying a little tote and a denim jacket with her, so Sasha volunteers to take her downstairs to the staff room as Katya goes about making herself a coffee.  
  
  
“Who’s the sex doll Barbie that Sasha just took downstairs?” Pearl says as she appears back at the bar.  
  
  
“You kiss your mother with that mouth, Pearly?” Katya asks jokingly, steaming soya milk for her latte. “She’s called Trixie, you heathen. She’s the new hiring Bob was on about last week. Don’t you remember?”  
  
  
“Honestly? No. But cool, she’s pretty. Please don’t make her quit, it’s a lonely life waiting tables on my own.”  
  
  
“I mean I guess, if you’re into that whole bubble-gum princess fantasy. And for the record lady, I _always_ help you on the floor. Maybe not physically, but I am always with you in spirit,” Katya replies. Pearl jabs her half-heartedly in the side and some of the tepid milk splashes out of the steamer jug and down the leg of Katya’s jeans as she recoils, cackling at her own terrible humour.  
  
  
Katya’s a filthy liar and she’s not proud of it. Trixie’s whole pink persona is extremely her shit, but she’ll never admit that to Pearl. Or to Sasha. Or to herself. She pours her milk into her coffee cup, making a little heart shape with the foam and resolutely does not think of Trixie and how she wishes she’d shown her downstairs instead of Sasha.    
  
  
  
  
\- - - - -  
  
  
  
  
Katya had had it all planned out. She was going to ease Trixie in gently, show her how to work the tills and the coffee machine, chat her through the system for putting through food orders and show her where the ice machine lives. Life, however, is rarely on Katya’s side these days. The bar is located across the street from the local university, and at one o’clock they got hit with an unexpected wave of customers filtering in after a long morning of campus tours, and it’s been non-stop ever since.  
  
  
Katya however, is more impressed than she has been in a long time. Instead of panicking and quitting on the spot like Katya’s pessimistic brain thought she would, Trixie’s taken to the mayhem like a duck to water. Albeit a duck who still can’t find some of the buttons on the till and who couldn’t make a decent cappuccino to save her life, but Katya figures she can let that slide. She likes how unflappable Trixie appears to be, likes how even the shouting complaints about wait times and prices from over-eager parents of the worlds future leaders didn’t shake her at all. Katya knows just how far confidence can take a person in this business, and it just oozes right out of Trixie.  
  
  
The last of the customers are shuffling out of the door now, bills paid and stomach’s full. Trixie begins clearing their tables, Sasha excuses herself to the bathroom and Pearl flops herself down dramatically over the bar-top, head resting on folded arms.  
  
  
“That was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ll never be the same again!” Pearl shouts, but it’s muffled by the crook of one of her elbows.  
  
  
“Oh mama, it’s all downhill from here. You think doing this at twenty-one is bad? Just you wait till you have the joints of an elderly lady! Twenty-five is the new sixty.” Katya shakes her hair out of the bun she’d quickly thrown it up into hours ago and looks at herself in the reflection of the windows – her eyes look bruised from lack of sleep and her hair has air-dried into wildly frizzy curls. She looks over at Trixie, who’s pink curls haven’t fallen in the slightest, make-up still perfect if a little dewier looking than before.  
  
  
“I loved it! It’s so nice being kept busy. I used to work at the library in town and that was pretty much just like being a receptionist in God’s waiting room,” Trixie chimes in as she sets down the dirty coffee cups next to Pearl’s head.  
  
  
Pearl moans out loud as Katya tells her maybe she should think about taking a leaf out of Trixie’s book.  
  
  
“So what brought you to our beautiful doorstep then, Trixie?” Katya asks as she playfully tugs on a strand of Pearl’s blonde hair; Pearl sticks a hand out to swipe her away like a cat trying to catch a laser beam.  
  
  
“Well, I study at the university so logistically it’s just easier for me; I used to have to get 2 buses to make it to the library. Plus, it means I’m closer to my boyfriend, which really works for us!” Every word that comes out of Trixie’s mouth is permeated with such glee that Katya wonders if the girl has ever been upset in her life. She’s a bit like a greeting card. Katya thinks its cute, in the same way that she finds Facebook videos of puppies cute.  
  
  
“What’s this about a boyfriend?” Sasha reappears at the bar asking. Katya realised pretty soon after starting at the restaurant that everyone knows everything about everyone. At first the prospect terrified her, she didn’t want the entire staff pool knowing her business, but she’s come to realise that their questions come from a place of genuine interest rather than for any sort of ulterior motive. Her work mates are just very nosey.  
  
  
  
“Oh he’s wonderful, we met at church and have been together for four years now!” Trixie chirps and Katya momentarily panics that Bob has hired a Bible basher but realises that if the girl didn’t so much as bat an eyelid at Sasha’s shaven head or Pearl’s septum piercing, that she can’t be too judgemental. Katya doesn’t like to tar everyone with the same brush, but sometimes it’s easier to just assume prejudice from certain types of folk; she figures this kind of makes her a bad person but she’s trying to work on it. It’s just that old habits die hard and her experiences with the church haven’t exactly been gold standard. Plus, she doesn’t think she’s ever seen a regular church-goer with pink hair before and assumes that maybe Trixie isn’t a strict disciple.  
  
  
“Shouldn’t you, like, be at Church right now? What with it being God’s day and all that,” Pearl asks, towing a thin line between sounding condescending and genuinely curious  
  
  
“Probably!” Trixie says with a smile and a wink before she wonders back over to the dirty table with a cloth and antibacterial spray in hand, leaving it at that. Pearl looks as confused as Katya feels by the whole thing.    
  
  
  
  
  
 - - - - -  
  
  
  
  
Katya gives herself early finish when she’s letting Trixie clock off too. Trixie’s shift was only supposed to last four hours but given the small tidal wave of customers they experienced she’s been here considerably longer, and Katya, well, she figures she deserves to go home and do absolutely nothing for at least a few hours. She trusts Sasha enough to leave her manning the fort that is the now empty establishment until Bob comes in at night to cash up and close down.  
  
  
“Now remember, call me if you need anything. I mean, I probably won’t answer, but I’m contractually obliged to tell you that you can,” Katya tells Sasha and Pearl as she grabs her rucksack from under the counter.  
  
  
“We will be fine, now go home! Eat, sleep, watch bad TV! For the love of God, put on some moisturiser please, you look like a corpse,” Sasha jokes and Katya pretends to be offended, although she does look dead on her feet, so Sasha has a point.  
  
  
Trixie plods back up the stairs from the staff room, denim jacket on and her little pink tote bag swinging at her side. There’s a coffee stain on her yellow polo from where she had a disaster with a latte earlier that her jacket does nothing to hide; it doesn’t look like it would manage to stretch over her broad chest to be buttoned up anyway. Katya realises she’s staring a little too late, Trixie’s small cough ripping her out of her daydream. Trixie’s looking at her like she knows a secret Katya hasn’t figured out yet.  
  
  
“Thanks for being so nice today, I really enjoyed myself. Like, I was so nervous before I came in, but you guys are great! Also, sorry about the cappuccinos, I’ll work on those,” Trixie chats away to Katya as they wave to Pearl and Sasha and head out of the front door.  
  
  
“Honestly don’t worry about it, frothed milk is a fickle friend. You did good.” Katya reassures her as they fall in to a comfortable silence. Many would argue that Katya gets too close to her employees, too friendly, but she’s never seen the point in power trips – she might be their boss, but that doesn’t mean she can’t speak to them like real people either.  
  
  
“So do you live nearby?”  
  
  
“Not really – I get the bus in to town most days, but my boyfriend stays just up the hill and I told him I’d stop by once I was finished. That’s where I’m heading now,” Trixie tells her, pulling her jacket a little tighter around her; it turned out to be a decent spring day, but the temperature never really increased from the cold of the morning.  
  
  
“Does he have a name, this boyfriend of yours?”  
  
  
“Oh! He’s called Matt. Matthew, if you want to be official about it. What about you?”  
  
  
“Oh uh, no – I uh, I’m single. Very single,” Katya stutters, hadn’t been expecting Trixie to ask about her own love life in return, makes sure not to mention the whole lesbian thing. Katya isn’t ashamed; she’s very comfortable with who she is, it just doesn’t feel like a necessary statement to make to a girl she’s just met. Trixie breaks out into a loud cackle that startles the birds in the tree above them at Katya’s response.  
  
  
“No, no! I mean do you live around here?” Trixie’s still laughing, and Katya can feel a blush creeping up her cheeks as the wind blows Trixie’s pink hair in every direction. She mentally chides herself for being an idiot; _o_ f _course that’s what she meant_.  
  
  
“I’m about fifteen minutes up that way,” Katya points at the steep hill in front of them.  
  
  
“That looks like my worst nightmare. My mom always said us Mattel’s don’t have bodies built for steep inclines.” Katya lets her eyes discreetly rove up Trixie’s body, from her thick thighs to her breasts, which coincidentally put the little handful Katya has on her chest to shame. Katya tells herself she’s only looking because Trixie happened to mention it, but if she’s being honest with herself (which she isn’t) she knows she’s been stealing glances at Trixie from afar all day.  
  
  
Katya thinks she might have a little bit of a crush on Trixie, sort of a _lust at first sight_ thing. It feels nice to daydream about reaching out to hold her hand, to take her out for dinner and get to know her. Katya is well aware of how highly unattainable Trixie is, on account of the whole boyfriend and the religion thing, but a girl can daydream. It’s all very pure and innocent, and Katya welcomes the thoughts into her mind with open arms, let’s them bloom in her brain like spring flowers after a long winter.  
  
  
“Anyways,” continues Trixie, bringing Katya back to the present. “I’m taking a left here, so I guess I’ll see you later!” Trixie says it with another huge smile on her face and Katya honestly can’t think of ever meeting someone so filled with joy in her life, with a smile like everything is a blessing and curses don’t exist.  
  
  
“See you later!” Katya calls as Trixie turns, spinning on her heels to wave and grin as the cold sun hits her pink hair and rounded features.  
  
  
  
  
 - - - - -  
  
  
  
  
If Katya happens to go to bed that night and dreams of candy floss hair and thick thighs, well then that’s just a happy accident.  
  
  
  



	2. the bananarama effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You’re a mean one, Mattel,” Katya jokes, wipes the stray splash back from her drink off her chin._  
>   
> 
> _“Treat them mean to keep them keen, you know?” Trixie says innocently, and Katya almost chokes on her drink. Again. Jesus fucking Christ._

When Bob decides to rebrand the restaurant, Katya almost has an aneurysm.  
  
  
Gone are the days of rolling out of bed into whatever carefully crafted outfit she would pick up off her floor or from her laundry basket, signalling the beginning of the _Reign of the Poloshirt._ They’re electric blue nightmares made of nylon, and Katya wants to burn them all. She’d only just managed to talk enough sense into him to prevent matching trousers becoming mandatory as well.  
  
  
And whilst Katya looks like an ex-employee of Camp Chippewa who was sacked under mysterious circumstances, Trixie somehow makes the garish thing work. Even with the pink hair.  
  
  
Katya’s thinking about just that as she watches Trixie serve tables, three heavy plates of food spread over her arms, when Alaska pipes up from beside the coffee machine.  
  
  
“I don’t like her.”  
  
“Wait what?”  
  
“The new girl-”  
  
“Trixie.”  
  
“Yeah, that one. I don’t like her.”  
  
Katya almost laughs due to the shock. How do you even reply to that?  
  
“Alaska, mama, you _cannot_ say that. Like, you just can’t.”  
  
“Why not?” Alaska continues, drawing circles in a pile of spilled sugar she still hasn’t swept up from the countertop.  
  
  
Unlike many employees of the restaurant, past and present, Katya’s never had anything against Alaska. She can feel that changing at break neck speed as the seconds tick by, watching Alaska send little granules of sugar flying under the coffee machine that Katya knows she’ll never clean.  
  
  
“She’s worked here for ten days. Give me one plausible reason why you don’t like her?” Katya asks, hoping that Alaska can’t tell just how riled up by her unfair comments she feels.  
  
  
“I don’t _have_ to have a reason, I just don’t.”  
  
  
“Wow. With a stunning display of emotional maturity and managerial prowess, Miss Alaska Thunder strikes again.” Katya no longer cares what Alaska thinks, hopes that her deadpan delivery conveys just that.  
  
  
Katya would be the same regardless of who Alaska was going on about, or at least she thinks she would. This isn’t about Trixie, it’s about Katya taking the moral high ground and leaving Alaska to fight her weird and apparently entirely uncalled for crusade in the trenches alone.  
  
  
“I love messing with your little chicken brain, Katya.”  
  
  
Alaska chuckles at Katya and flicks some of the discarded sugar in her direction, the little specks catching in the blue nylon of her top. Katya walks off to the dumpsters for a cigarette before she causes a scene that she can feel brewing deep in her gut and resolutely doesn’t think about how much she’d like to put the lit cigarette out in Alaska’s eye as she stomps the butt into the dry ground with her boot.  
  
  
  
\- - - - - -  
  
  
  
Alaska finishes at six and Katya’s glad to see the back of her. It’s a Wednesday, their quietest evening next to Sunday’s, so it’s only Katya, Trixie and Pearl working till close. It stays quiet for the remainder of the night – they get five walk-in tables, none of whom want starters or desserts – and the girls take their time with the clean-up after the restaurant has closed and the kitchen staff have gone home.  
  
  
  
Katya’s cashing up the till when Pearl starts, as she always does at this time on a Wednesday.  
  
  
“Please. It’ll be fun. I won’t cry on you this time, honestly!”  
  
  
Wednesday night is the unofficial student night out in their city, and Pearl attends without fail every single week. She also attempts to goad Katya into attending with her without fail every single week. But being that Pearl is a student and Katya is not, her attempts fall flat on their face more often than not.  
  
  
“Pearl. I’m twenty-five. I prefer my stomach contents to remain just that, instead of pavement mulch. Plus, do you know how many years drinking that paint-stripper they disguise as vodka is knocking off your life expectancy?” Katya scoffs as she piles coins into the coin counter.  
  
  
“Oh, come off your high horse Zamo, I’ve seen you drink worse. Does the Great Christmas Night Out of 2018 ring a few bells per chance?” Pearl retorts with a sly smile and Katya knows she’s done for. She does remember it, but only in foggy flashbacks; specifically, lighting her cigarette backward and choking on the burning plastic filter so hard that she ended up keeling over and vomiting straight tequila all over their old manager Ginger, as Pearl scraped her up from the club’s smoking area floor.  
  
  
“No.”  
  
  
Katya watches Pearl’s shoulders rise out of the corner of her eye, ready to launch into the next stage of her well-rehearsed argument, when Trixie appears with a dustpan and brush in hand.  
  
  
“What’s this about a Christmas night out?” She chirps and Katya all but throws her hand over Pearl’s mouth as she starts to recall the very tale.  
  
  
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. This one here is a dirty liar and I need you to promise that whatever she tells you, you will take with a pinch of salt, okay?”  
  
  
Katya laughs anxiously, and Pearl looks at her like she has three heads – on many an occasion Katya has regaled staff members with her alcohol-induced cautionary tale. But not this time, no ma’am. For no reason in particular.  
  
  
“Salt goes great with tequila, eh Kat?” Pearl giggles and as much as Katya loves her, the urge to knock her over the head with the coin counter right about now is overwhelmingly tempting.  
  
  
“Don’t listen to her Trixie, she’s an old hag now,” Pearl kisses Katya’s temple jokingly, taking the edge off her comment, “I’m – _we’re_ – going out tonight. You in?”  
  
  
Katya’s about to protest Pearl’s use of _‘we’re’_ when she suddenly has a change of heart. Completely and utterly of her own volition.  
  
  
“Sure! I mean, I am _totally_ not dressed for it, and my hair is – well, the less said about it the better, but I am _so_ down! Are you coming Katya?” Trixie chirps and Katya is almost shocked that Pearl isn’t running victory laps around the restaurant floor yet.  
  
  
“Fuck it, why not!” Katya enthuses and hears Pearl snicker under her breath. It’s tuned out by the hum of the Spotify playlist coming from Katya’s phone, but it sounds suspiciously to Katya like the word _whipped_.  
  
  
 - - - - - -  
  
  
  
An hour later they get to the club, blue polo shirts and all – Katya thinks they look like some weird conservative Christian pop group. They’re the soberest people in the building, and that’s including the staff. It’s so hot inside that the walls look like they’re sweating, and Katya’s shoes are sticking to the carpet. What club even has a carpeted floor anymore? _‘5, 6, 7, 8’_ by Steps is blasting, and that’s it, Katya has officially arrived in hell.  
__  
  
“Okay, bar? Shots? Yes?” Pearl asserts and guides them easily through the crowd of guys wearing chinos with tweed blazers and half-dressed girls. Katya wonders how Pearl manages to do this every week. She also wonders how many of them are underage, and then quickly shudders the thought clean out of her mind. She’ll have one drink and then slip out of the door, go home and watch Netflix in bed.  
  
  
Katya throws back whatever the hell it is Pearl has just bought them and it’s so vile she finds herself making a silent pack with God to _please_ not make it come right back up. Pearl and Trixie don’t even flinch, and Pearl orders three more. Katya’s never felt more ancient in her whole entire life.  
  
  
“I love this place!” Trixie shouts over the music to Katya, spinning around from the bar top to face her as Pearl makes eyes with an unassuming boy in one of those dreadful blazers. _Typical_ she thinks.  
  
  
“Uh yeah, me too. I particularly like their use of carpet. Really adds an element of grunge you just don’t get with tiled flooring these days.”  
  
  
Katya wants the ground to swallow her up, wants the sticky carpet to consume her. Of all the things in the world she could have responded, her mind came up with _that_? She’s contemplating running away and starting a new life when Trixie laughs. At that. At her shocking attempt at humour. How low is Trixie’s alcohol tolerance if that tickled her pink?  
  
  
“Well, that’s certainly something to consider when it comes to interior design, isn’t it. Sounds to me like you’ve missed your calling in life, Katya.” Trixie replies, and Katya swear that she winks. _WINKS_.  
  
  
Although, it could just have been the way the unrelenting strobe lights hit her face.  
  
  
Kylie’s _I Should Be So Lucky_ starts to blare out around them, and Trixie’s eyes looks manic.  
  
  
“Oh my god. I love this song. You have to dance with me.”  
  
  
It’s not a request but a statement, and before Katya even has time to protest, make the whole she’s not a dancer speech, Trixie’s hand is in hers yanking them both towards the dancefloor, leaving Pearl at the bar in the apparently capable hands of Mr Tweed Blazer.  
  
  
Trixie guides them through the throngs of dancers already on the dancefloor until she finds the spot she’s apparently been looking for, right slap-bang in the middle of the floor. She catches the beat easily and bops her body along to the upbeat rhythm. Katya however feels like her legs are being weighed down by lead; she’s too sober for this, and just tries to get her feet to move in motion with each other.  
  
  
“C’mon, grandma! Is that all you’ve got in you?” Trixie yells over the music as she dangles her arms above her head, hips swaying in time to the song.  
  
  
Katya, never one to shy away from a challenge, decides to pull out her best moves despite the crippling mortification coming from the lack of alcohol in her system. Her best moves being Dad Moves, that is.  
  
  
 She juts her elbows out and kicks her legs wildly, dancing to her own rhythm and entirely ignoring the one Kylie is so kindly providing them. The people around them begin to glance, and the few ones that accidentally come in the path of her rouge limbs scoff and shuffle further away until there’s a clear circle around her and Trixie. Trixie for the most part looks like she’s been stunned motionless, and Katya panics that she’s taken it a sprinkler motion too far, until she cackles so loud that Katya can hear it over the music. And then, against all the odds, Trixie joins in. Gone are her carefully timed hip sways, and here to stay apparently are her stomping feet and staccato arm juts.  
  
  
They find a beat that matches each other’s wild rhythm and dance and dance and dance, until the song ends and the sweat is pouring down their foreheads in rivulets.  
  
  
  
 - - - - - -  
__  
  
  
Katya gives in after three more songs and drags Trixie to the smoking area with her. She looks for Pearl’s blonde head and horrid blue polo shirt on their journey across the club but sees no sign of her – she fires out a quick text message to the younger girl, asking her to let her know if she’s home safe, or well, at least _somewhere_ safe. __  
  
  
They break free from the crowd and the cold air crashes into Katya like a welcome hug, drying her sticky sweat covered body immediately. She doesn’t even want to imagine how bad she smells right now, especially next to Trixie’s sugary sweet scent.  
  
  
Katya leans against the wall and lights up, as Trixie sips on the drinks she’d bought them on their way to the fresh air. She doesn’t tell Katya what’s in them and Katya doesn’t ask, but it’s strong so Katya gulps it down gratefully between draws of her smoke.  
  
  
“I’m having so much fun tonight!”  
  
  
“I’m glad mama, you’ve got some moves on you!” Katya shouts a bit too loudly, ears still adjusting to the drop in volume outside.  
  
  
“Yeah, says you – I’ve never seen anyone dance like that before. Not even my dad. But I’ve never actually met him, so I suppose that has something to do with it,” Trixie delivers it in deadpan form and Katya chokes a little on her drink, spits an ice cube back into the cup.  
  
  
“That was a joke, Katya. It was _supposed_ to be funny,” Trixie says when she sees the ice-cube pathetically slip from Katya’s mouth and back into the beverage. “And even if it wasn’t, it was worth it just for the look on your face!”  
  
  
“You’re a mean one, Mattel,” Katya jokes, wipes the stray splash back from her drink off her chin.  
  
  
“Treat them mean to keep them keen, you know?” Trixie says innocently, and Katya almost chokes on her drink. Again. _Jesus fucking Christ_.  
  
  
“Anyway, back to the dancefloor?” Before Katya has time to respond, Trixie plucks the almost burnt out cigarette from Katya’s hand and inhales the final draw, stubbing it out on the wall next to them and letting it fall to the ground to be further trampled.  
  
  
Trixie leads them back to almost the same spot they were in before and Katya doesn’t even have time to process her comment before they’re dancing again, half of her drink sloshing out of the cup and all over the pair of them at Trixie’s wild rhythm and pointy elbows.  
  
  
  
 - - - - - -  
  
  
  
It’s almost closing time and Katya’s drunk. She dreads to think how much money she and Trixie have spent playing catch up with the other club-goers but catch up they have. If this was a race they’d have come in first place and been showered with champagne at the finish line. Trixie keeps stumbling over her own feet and Katya’s eyes can’t focus on anything for shit – she’s going to be feeling this one tomorrow.  
  
  
They’re banging into other people left, right and centre, but Katya really couldn’t care less. Trixie’s been holding onto her hands for the past however many minutes – to Katya it could have been seconds or an eternity, she can’t tell anymore, doesn’t care. She just hopes that Trixie doesn’t let go anytime soon.  
  
  
The music changes and Katya can recognise it vaguely. It’s by Bananarama, a song her mum used to blare on their tiny kitchen stereo and dance around the kitchen table with her to. If she was sober, she’d be able to put her finger on the title. Trixie however, appears to have caught her second wind, belting out every word correctly. She holds Katya’s sweaty hands even tighter now, pulls her in close to her with them, and Katya feels like all the wind has been knocked right out of her. She’s dreaming – she _must_ be. This is her co-worker, her _very_ straight co-worker. Trixie with the boyfriend, Trixie that goes to church, Trixie that she’s known for all of ten days. She can feel the panic rising in her, doesn’t know why it’s making itself so known – a crush never hurt anyone, and she’s positive Trixie can’t read minds, so there’s no way she’d know. Katya’s ready to blurt it all out anyway out of misplaced guilt, and induce a lifetime of awkwardness between the two, when Trixie suddenly raises their joint hands and spins Katya out across the dancefloor with one, careening right into another girl.  
  
  
Katya’s eyes take a second to readjust from the sudden movement, but when they do all she can see is Trixie’s laughing face illuminated by the strobe light behind her, and their still entwined hands held out in the space between them. She forgets what she was panicking about, giggles out loud, and then takes a turn at spinning Trixie across the dancefloor too. They keep at it until Katya thinks she might puke and the song changes, laughing and grasping onto each other for stability.  
  
  
Katya makes a mental note in her foggy brain to thank Pearl for inviting her out the next time she sees her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi 
> 
> this was sort of short but hopefully sweet! i hope you liked it.
> 
> (p.s we'll get to the important stuff soon i promise!)


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